


Who You Love

by Miss_Deyora_Ash



Category: Led Zeppelin
Genre: Light Angst, M/M, Self-Discovery, Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-28
Updated: 2020-12-28
Packaged: 2021-03-10 20:41:24
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,517
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28383396
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Miss_Deyora_Ash/pseuds/Miss_Deyora_Ash
Summary: He doesn’t know how he ends up in Robert’s hotel room. After a show, before showering even. Drenched in sweat still. But he fixes his hair beforehand and brings expensive wine.Jimmy is learning some things about himself. He's still not quite sure what he's feeling but at least he's got Robert to help him figure it out.
Relationships: Jimmy Page/Robert Plant
Comments: 3
Kudos: 27





	Who You Love

**Author's Note:**

> This pretty much began as an excuse to write porn. Then Jimmy started doubting himself and it got plot.
> 
> Jimmy's POV for once. Writing him comes very naturally to me but often ends up very angsty and neurotic and I rarely post it.

Jimmy never understood why people had an issue with it. Who you love is none of anyone’s business, and why does it matter? Yes, years ago he would’ve accepted this knowledge about himself with a shrug and moved on. And it’s not like he hasn’t stepped outside of society’s bounds in other matters, but. But.

He’s twenty-fucking-five years old and this isn’t something you’re supposed to figure out at twenty-fucking-five years old. He’s seen shy teenage boys stare and blush. And he might not understand why people look at him like he’s attractive but he knows that they do. So what changed?

If he’s like this. Why could he have Mick Jagger brazenly sit down in his lap and toy with his hair like a girl, pouting with those ridiculous lips, practically begging for it, and have it not stir him at all? If he’s like this. Or pretty David who had been strange and androgynous and the closest thing you can get to a bird while still being so obvious a man, flirting and joking around. They’d gotten along quite well. Why would that do nothing?

It’s not like he’s ever been blind to it. Asking Terry to be in his band was not only because of his voice, was because having a pretty frontman was important. For sales. Practicalities. A logical decision. And Robert had been described as an Adonis, a Greek god come to life, and that worked perfectly.

But he was not a teenager, he was a grown man, so why this curiosity? Why was Robert-

He had never been so glad to be a guitar player as when they shared a stage. Instrument slung low, right over his hips, and if anyone asked it was because it _fit_ , it was a part of the image. Music is sex and sex is music. Robert’s moans had nothing to do with it.

Of course not, because he’s twenty-fucking-five years old and if he had been like that he would have known it by now. Nobody told him you can have an exception.

And yet-

And yet.

Chapped lips and golden tangles. Tan skin and blue eyes. Curves and edges in all the wrong places.

The right places.

He doesn’t know how he ends up in Robert’s hotel room. After a show, before showering even. Drenched in sweat still. But he fixes his hair beforehand and brings expensive wine.

Robert steps back when he enters, seems to sense something different. “Good show, eh?” he says, pleasant accent and voice hoarse.

Jimmy smiles. “Wonderful. You were great.” They sit down on the bed and Jimmy pours them two too-full glasses. White wine. He would have gone with red, simply for the effect, but he knows the singer prefers white. The raise them, clink the rims together. “To Led Zeppelin,” he says for lack of something else to say.

“To us,” Robert says with a laugh.

They drink, and chat, and pour more wine. Robert digs up joints from somewhere. Jimmy just wants to get drunk and forget that he couldn’t stop staring at his singer’s arse during the show.

Eventually they fall silent. Robert is staring at him and Jimmy wants to hide, sink through the floor, go somewhere, anywhere else.

“You’re really pretty you know,” the singer giggles. “I had a girl waiting for me but you’re almost as pretty.” Jimmy thinks Robert is too drunk to understand what he’s saying, but he’s certain he himself is buzzed enough not to care.

“Usually I would take that as an insult,” he says dryly.

“Is not,” Robert protests. “I was just saying.”

“An’ what did you want to say with it?” Robert goes really still and then reaches out and touches Jimmy’s face, fingertips leaving burning traces among his stubble.

“I wanna kiss you.” The words are slurred, but he acts brazen and bold as always, until he’s blushing and not daring to meet his eyes.

Oh god this can’t be real Jimmy thinks. I can’t make this up, he also thinks. He almost laughs, because it’s almost hilarious. That someone like Robert could want to kiss _him_. He never liked a man before Robert, and he thinks everyone must like Robert, but why the fuck would Robert like him?

He doesn’t laugh. Drains his glass of wine. “Do it then.” He never feels this brave unless he’s wasted and has a pretty bird fluttering her eyelashes at him. Robert isn’t a girl but he’ll do.

Fuck that. He won’t just do. Jimmy’s too drunk to lie to himself and he hasn’t been this curious, this wanting for a sensation in ages. Jimmy Page, the guitar god, a debauched rockstar who’s tried anything and everything at least once. For fuck’s sake.

Robert does not kiss him. Is staring at him all wondery and pretty. Jimmy doesn’t want wonderment, he wants to _feel_. So he initiates. Buries his fingers into blond curls and tugs, Robert following willingly. Their lips meet, and it’s.

Well, it is.

Jimmy doesn’t leave the kiss gentle for long, pulls Robert even closer and darts out his tongue. He meets him halfway. Fuck. Jimmy wants to have more, have all, this is perfect. Robert’s hands dart up, clutch at his shoulders, and then he pushes him down on the bed. Kissing and sucking his neck, roaming his hands everywhere, and it’s all too much too fast.

“Robert,” Jimmy manages to pant out. “Hold on.”

Robert moves back immediately, full attention on Jimmy and it’s the most intense thing he’s ever felt. “Jimmy. Jimmy what do you want.”

Fuck, he can’t possibly answer that, can’t possibly say it out loud. “You. I uhm, I want to touch you.”

Robert moans out loud when he says that, and goes willingly when Jimmy pushes him away. Tugs off his pretty flowery blouse. Then, quickly because he’s afraid he’ll lose his nerve otherwise, Jimmy undoes his much too tight jeans and pulls them down his legs. God why the fuck is this hot. Why is-

He licks and bites his way down Robert’s chest. The younger man squirming when he drags his tongue over a nipple, slowly, and experimentally pinches the other one. God he’s impatient.

His belly is flat and muscled, with a trail of blond hair leading down to his crotch. Jimmy licks that too. “Beautiful,” he whispers, and Robert groans. It really isn’t so different. From girls.

He’s never touched another man’s cock, but he’ll figure it out as he goes. So he moves back, straddles Robert’s long tan legs and grabs it in his right hand. Robert is staring up at him, flushed, mouth slightly open.

Jimmy thinks that sometime he’ll want to experiment with this more, to see exactly what touches make Robert moan and gasp and which will make him pull away instead. Now he’s overwhelmed enough though, so he just moves his hand and bends down to capture the singer’s lips with his own.

“Is this okay?” he asks.

Robert huffs out a laugh and buries a hand into his hair, pulling him back down. “Faster,” he says between kisses.

Jimmy moves down to his neck, kissing and sucking on the tender skin. Robert’s moaning constantly now, whimpering his name and curses and random nonsense. He gets a knee between Jimmy’s legs and Jimmy finds himself rutting down onto the juncture between his thigh and hip. Robert’s other hand is on his arse now, guiding his movements. The position really isn’t great and his wrist is getting sore but he feels like he could do this forever.

“Jimmy, oh fuck don’t stop oh god oh Jimmy” Robert’s stream of consciousness is very flattering but also somewhat annoying, so Jimmy gives the necking a rest and shuts him up by kissing him again. Then Robert’s hand in his hair tightens and he comes, arching his back and crying out into Jimmy’s mouth.

Jimmy thrusts a few more times and then he comes as well. Into his pants, like a teenager. Robert wraps his arms around his waist and pulls him closer, legs tangled together, his face pressed into his shoulder. “You came like that?” Jimmy weakly slaps his shoulder. “’s hot,” he says unapologetically. “But next time I want you undressed as well.”

Jimmy smiles at the blind assumption that this will happen again. “We should get cleaned up.”

The singer sighs theatrically but pushes Jimmy away and gets up. He’s unsteady on his legs but completely unashamed in his nudity, pushes a lock of hair out of his face and smiles crookedly. “Join me in the shower?”

And Jimmy knows that at some point he will have to think about this again, that he will have to figure out why he feels like this like he wants to figure out and explain away everything about himself. That all the worries and confusion will come back. But he can at least delay that moment. So he smiles back and pushes himself up, strips under Robert’s watchful eyes, and walks past him to the bathroom. “Well, don’t just stand there,” he says.

**Author's Note:**

> I usually write Jimmy as either having experience with homosexuality or not caring too much about it. His attitude here that he should have known already is of course incorrect, plenty of people only figure out that they're not straight later in life, much later than one's mid-twenties as well. That doesn't mean that it isn't something that causes people to think they must be straight.


End file.
